


Olani hoath ol

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, farewell fic, heads up this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long after Dean's hunting days are through, Castiel continues to visit him. Until the afternoon he realizes it's time - that certain things have to be said, and asked, before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olani hoath ol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asphaltcowgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltcowgrrl/gifts).



> Written as a reward fic for asphaltcowgrrrl on the 1_million_words comm on LJ. The prompt: Write us a story about two of your characters who've decided it's done. Maybe one's moving on and the other is demolished about it. Maybe neither one is sure they can take it but....circumstances dictate, and they're just heartbroken cogs in a machine too big for either of them to fight.
> 
> Before they part....there will be one more time, and this is it.

“Take my hand” Castiel didn’t grab at him. Resisted the urge to rush this. He only reached 90 percent of the way, giving Dean the option to reach the other ten. "Come walk with me for a while. Okay?”

“You’ll forgive me for being… you know… never good with this part?” Dean said, eyes closing, flinching when he felt the fingertips on his forehead. But he was taking his hand.

“Yes. Of course.”

After all they’d been through… in some ways it should make it easier to trust each other, to trust in fate and Castiel’s inter-dimensional piloting abilities. In other ways… well, Castiel got it, the inflexibility that came with what Dean was suffering through.

“Aw, crap…” He got one look at the brilliant, leafy green vista that was suddenly around them – nothing but trees and plants and flowers, a rushing brook twisting through it all - and his eyes narrowed. “This one’s a little _too_ nice. Not dead again, am I?”

“No, Beregida…” Castiel let slip the Enochian word for darling and saw Dean both flinch and smile at it. He never had gotten any better at handling endearments. “You’re not. This is my heaven – or what I hope it will be like, at least. I’ve been saving this.”

Thankfully Dean didn’t ask ‘saving it for what?’

“It smells… awesome. Like…”

“Strawberry rhubarb?”

His tone suggested that was no accident.

“Cas….” Dean sounded regretful – at Castiel doing anything so sentimental and kind and silly as scenting the air of his most idyllic place with pie for him. At his own inability to appreciate the gesture as open heartedly as maybe others might. “You deserve better. Always did. Someone so much less…busted.”

“You’re wrong. I deserve you. Exactly you. You’ve been all I ever could have….”

Cas didn’t expect anything in the way of returned sentiments, so it sucked the air out of his lungs when Dean stepped toward him, eyes looking well beyond him, chin finding Castiel’s shoulder, arms wrapping around him tight.

“We don’t have long,” Cas breathed deep, fighting to control this voice. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him, make him understand how much he was hurting. “Let’s go that way, to the left. There’s a stream under the bridge that’s in the distance. I can conjure us lunch and beers and…”

“Like a picnic?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like that.”

“I know you would.”

They’d stepped apart and started walking, Dean looking himself up and down, eyes taking in his own strong, muscled form, the smoothness of his arms and hands, the solidness of his gait.

“Must be nice seeing me like this again. I know its not priority number one for you but you gotta miss the me that had a ton of piss and…”

“I won’t lie,” Castiel cut him off. “I won’t tell you it’s not nice to see you with pink in your skin and light in your eyes. But…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re way above all that. And I’m beautiful to you no matter how twisted and decrepit I….”

“Don’t jeer. Please.”

“Sure, buddy. Sorry. I’m enjoying it too, you know? It’s always good when you come: Nice to have you to talk to, not to feel like a hollow, cranky bag of bones for a day or so.”

It was a fresh heartbreak, how Dean didn’t even remember that it _used_ to be days that Castiel could draw him out of his own brain. Then it had dropped to hours. Now…

“Here we are….”

Castiel opened the drinks, let Dean pick through the basket. They barely got half a beer and a sandwich down, shared a little conversation and one long, light kiss in the sunshine, lips grazing, tongues sliding, tasting before…

It was starting to take him: Right in the middle of a kiss he was drifting away, eyes less sharp, the sense of him being here, being _present_ evaporating so soon, so fast. 

Angels are powerful, but some villains? No one has dominion over them. 

“Dean?” He heard the sorrow in his own voice, took a deep breath to steady it again. “You won’t ever fully forget me, I hope? Because your heaven, when you get there, it could be … very far away. I don’t think, even having visited a couple of them, that you have any sense how …vast and extremely far apart they are. But if you call for me…. I’ll listen. I’ll hope that maybe we can find each other again. I want to hope. Will you try to remember me?”

“What are the words?” Dean interrupted, voice slow and thick now. “In your language…”

“For what?”

“For ‘I love you?’ What are the words, how do you say it?”

~*~

The transition back to Dean’s hospital room from the places he would steal him away to, it proved jolting every time.

It was so dim here – grey and green and dark. No nice smells or fresh air. Dean loved being outdoors. Wherever he had taken him, it was always outdoors. It was always April or July or September.

“I won’t be back,” he whispered it into Dean’s ear from where he sat, next to his bed.

He let his fingers run over Dean’s weathered face, but avoided his unseeing gaze, noted how much his white hair had thinned since the last visit. 

“I can’t risk coming one too many times… and not being able to find any trace of your mind at all. I hope you understand. Goodbye, Dean. _Olani hoath ol_.”

He left with his lips against Dean’s, his hand on his shoulder.

He could only hope they had registered with him – the flutter of his wings, and the memories of many warm, sunny days he was leaving behind for him.


End file.
